Shepard Dances
by Lypreila
Summary: In honor of N7 day I wrote this silly little fluffy/angsty piece. Garrus, in attempting to take the Commanders mind of all of the fighting and dying, finds out why she moves the way she moves.


**A/N: Y'all know that I don't own these characters or settings, right? That's all on Bioware.**

Blood, hot and sticky, sprayed across Triana Shepards face as she detonated a biotic explosion. Her features were schooled to careful stillness, the cold of battle suffusing her very core. Hazel eyes stared, but did not see. She turned sharply, flinging a careless shockwave behind her, ready for the next enemy, the next _slaver_ , the next of these cursed shadows of her past that she could rip to shreds. It seemed only fair to take her anger out on them when she couldn't destroy the Reapers instead. A gentle hand laid itself against her shoulder. Her gun left its holster seemingly of its own accord, and when she turned to face her attacker, her pale face blanched even paler.

Garrus stood there, one hand gently gripping , eyes steady on her. Her pistol, pressed against his temple, betrayed her shaking hand. Had she been so absorbed, so focused on revenge, on using the cold rush of adrenaline to force other thoughts from her mind? So ready to tear someone else limb from limb that she had turned on her closest friend without a seconds hesitation? Yes, apparently she had. She turned from him in disgrace, but her beloved Turians hand refused to let her go. Triana stopped, but still faced away from him.

"Tria. Stop. Don't do this. Everyone's all ready worried, and walking away will just make it worse." He said, sub vocals deep and thrumming in the still air.

"What would you recommend, Garrus love? I almost put a bullet in your brain. I…. need a moment. Badly."

"No. No you don't need a moment. You need a drink."

She turned to him, eyebrow raised curiously.

Hours later she stumbled out of some bar in Zakera ward, giggling in a most unlike 'The fearsome and famous Commander-Shepard' way. Garrus luched along side her, waving a careless hand at Vega and Kasumi as they staggered off towards the Normandy. He had a feeling that Tria wanted to return to the small apartment she was afforded by the Council. He could see her now, stumbling along, humming something soft and haunting under her breath. It sounded sad, apprehensive, and _epic_ all at the same time. He liked it. He listened while they walked, quickly nearing her place.

"What is that you're humming?" He asked, coming alongside to grab her arm. Yes, he wanted to keep her from stumbling, but it was more about physical contact, a blow for life in the face of the near un-winnable war they had to fight. They entered her apartment that way, without her having answered him. Tria stopped in the living room, looking up at him, hazel eyes half closed, clouded with drink. Then she turned, muttering something into the apartments VI interface.

Sweet haunting music filled the air. Garrus closed his eyes. Turians weren't much for music aside from military marches, but this was an insanely good piece of work. It pushed, pulled, growing on itself, seeming to strain to be free of the speakers. He could imagine a war set to this. He could imagine making love to this.

When his eyes slid open he beheld a sight that was utterly unexpected. Triana - Commander Shepard - was dancing. Spinning on one leg, dipping her upper body to the ground with perfect balance only to rise again, gliding to one side of the room on the tips of her toes. Her body moved perfectly to the music as she dropped to her knees, arms flung to the side. She spun to the side on one knee then rose. Leaping into the air she landed feather soft, the strains of the unknown song coming to an end, leaving her poised on the toes of one foot, other foot pointed out to the front, arms above her thrown back head. He could see it now, the relationship between this and her movements in battle. So _that_ was why she moved through battle like she was born to it. She saw it as a dance. It awed him - how she always had more to surprise him with.

She looked up at him with a small smile. She was panting lightly, but her eyes were bright now - no longer clouded with drink, no longer as dead as they had looked on their raid against the slavers.

"It's from Earth. It's called Carmina Burana. Old, old song. And…Garrus?"

"Yes?" he queried, voice hoarse.

"Thanks. You were right. Also, you tell anyone about this and I will make a jacket from your hide. Now come to bed."

He obliged her, chuckling all the while. He had to get her drunk more often.


End file.
